Crossing The Threshold
by LionessInTheSmoke
Summary: There is a bit more to a Scottish New Year than Harry is aware of. Young Malahad, rated for language and implications.


AN - As I was educating my Germans in my heathen Scottish ways, I thought I might as well educate you lot as well. Just took slightly longer than expected. Young Malahad romantic stumbles, with headcanon.

There is (bilingual) swearing, and heavily implied shenanigans but otherwise nothing to corrupt your (giving you the benefit of the doubt here) innocence.

* * *

Merlin was prepared to admit that he was possibly a wee bit phished as he lay sprawled and appreciating the warmth of Harry pressed up against him. He was not looking forward to the prospect of 'outside' as he traced the pattern of the couch's material lazily with the hand not pinned down by his ... Boyfriend?

 _Mo Chreach!_

 _No. Absolutely not. Fuck that._

Harry, the light-weight, was completely out, snuffling more or less in time with the terrible terrier at the other end of the sofa, and there was _Something Very Important_ Merlin had to do. Something time-dependent.

He screwed up his face and looked at the clock on Harry's mantelpiece. The numbers did not become significantly clearer, so he adjusted his glasses and tried again. Nothing.

"Time." He said. He had meant it to be quiet so as not to disturb his ... Lover. ( _Yuck, no!_ ) He had not expected it to come out as a croak. How long had they been sat there? Had he overslept? "Time." He said again, slightly more firmly. His glasses responded by displaying a red flashing read out.

23:47

 _Right then._

Merlin began the delicate process of digging himself out from under his ... Harry. He was just going to keep referring to him as Harry. It had worked for them so far since they had stopped using codenames. No one called him Rupert except Harry, and, whilst he infinitely preferred Merlin (or Gareth as he had previously been known), he found he liked that shared intimacy.

Merlin stood, wobbled, caught himself on the arm of the couch and found himself looking at the fireplace.

What kind of idiot didn't know to at least clean the ashes out of their hearth? Even if they didn't have time to do a proper clean (and Merlin did admit that Harry had been kept on the move with missions lately), the hearth should be swept before midnight.

Merlin reached for the pan and brush hung neatly on their stand, missed, swore under his breath at the chiming and managed to get a firm grip on the implements. He tipped the ashes into the bucket.

Most of them made it. Enough that he had shown willing anyway.

That done, he just needed a few things from his overnight bag. Which was upstairs.

 _Bollocks._

Merlin hauled himself up the steep set of stairs to Harry's bedroom and opened the door. He closed it behind him then switched on the light. This was essential because Harry's bedroom, like the rest of the house, was filled with furniture lurking with intent to cause bodily harm (Harry called it a ' _security measure_ ', Merlin called it ' _hoarding_ ') and some plonker had either hung the door the wrong way round or wired up the house in the stupidest way possible. Probably the wiring theory. Harry's house was old enough that it would have been gas-lit originally. What Merlin thought of the 'modernization' (and the plumbing) was not suitable for print, but the house suited Harry.

His bag was on the dresser. Harry had looked at him questioningly when he felt the weight of it earlier that evening. He was likely thinking of manacles though. Or something equally kinky. Harry had a filthy mind behind his posh facade and he often made Merlin feel like a blushing innocent. Which was quite a feat. Despite coming to Kingsman considerably less debauched than most of his colleagues (Gordonstoun simply was not Eton), Merlin had spent time as an agent before getting together with Galavanting Galahad.

The content was, unless considerable imagination was being applied (and Harry did have a _very active imagination_ it had to be said), considerably less titillating. Merlin unzipped his bag, dug out the carrier bag therein and checked nothing had mysteriously vanished since he had packed it at his flat.

All present and correct.

He took the carrier bag downstairs, slipped on his shoes and stuffed the laces inside because he couldn't be bothered tying them (or want to bend over for that long now he thought about it), slid on his coat and made an effort to button it (it had been absolutely brass monkeys when they had stumbled in from the pub earlier), pulled his hat over his ears and wrapped his scarf up to his nose. He really didn't want to do this, but he had relatively few traditions and this was one he wanted to keep.

Bag once again in hand, he let himself quietly out of the house.

It was still absolutely brass monkeys outside, but fortunately not snowy. Snow sensibly avoided London so as not to get dirty. Merlin resolved to make it as quick a trip as possible. More by luck than judgment, it had been nearly midnight when he left the house.

Merlin walked to the end of the mews and pointed himself in the direction of the Thames. He dug about in his pockets for his cigarette packet and a lighter, realized he had forgotten his gloves, lit up, stuffed his hands back in his pockets and enjoyed the nicotine hit as he waited. The cold air at least had the effect of clearing his head a bit.

As soon as the fireworks got underway in earnest, he walked back up the mews to the house.

He knocked on the door, quietly, three times. Then he dug about in his pockets again until he found the right bunch of keys. Harry had given him them out of the blue, with no ceremony whatsoever, one uneventful Tuesday about a month ago and Merlin had not needed them yet. Due to Harry being a contrary bastard, they were held together by a keyring with a large, and extremely Catholic-looking, cross. Merlin held each of them up to the streetlight until he found the one he wanted. He was not sure why Harry had felt the need to give him absolutely every key he owned, and he was yet to figure out the logic of the order they had been attached in. He put the key (townhouse, London, front door, which was very similar to villa, Skopelos, boatshed) in the lock, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray Harry kept for him on the windowledge and turned the key.

 _Right first time!_

He felt a bit smug as he pressed the doorhandle down and stepped inside.

Mr Pickles hurtled down the hallway, barking as if he was having a fit. There was a bang from the sitting room, probably as Harry collided with the coffee table and earned himself a lovely bruise on his shin. Mr Pickles snarled and did his best to be threatening.

Harry came flying. He had grabbed the poker from the fireplace on his way, so got points for effort if not style as his hair was decidedly ruffled.

"Rupert?" He asked.

"Fucking ankle-biter." Merlin replied. "It's not as if he doesn't know who I am."

"Mr Pickles!" Harry said firmly. "Enough. Heel."

Merlin received an absolutely filthy look from the terrier as it made its way to Harry.

"What on Earth were you doing Rupert?" Harry asked. "Last minute shopping?" He said looking at the bag in Merlin's hand.

"Qualtagh." Said Merlin, pulling off his hat and scarf.

"Bless you." Harry replied.

"First-footing." Merlin clarified, although apparently not enough for Harry. "It is a Northern tradition for bringing good luck in the new year. The first person to cross the threshold influences the luck of the house for the year, so they should bring gifts."

He held the bag open in front of Harry just in time to realize the expression on Harry's face was not (just) confusion (although there might have been some of that too), but discomfort, and not in time to move the bag.

Harry vomited into the carrier.

 _Cach_. Thought Merlin and tried to keep his face stoically neutral.

"Uhm." Harry said, pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and looking quite mortified as he wiped his mouth. "God Rupert, I'm sorry." He said. "Here you are being all open for cultural exchange and I am afraid the sudden adrenalin and movement combined with the alcohol from earlier has rather ruined the moment. Your gifts are washable, I hope?"

Merlin nodded and Harry took the bag and headed for the kitchen sink. Merlin took off his coat and shoes and followed glumly.

Harry put the bag on the draining board and pulled out a bottle, which he rinsed under the tap.

"From a distillery near my old school. Representing good cheer." Merlin said.

Harry reached into the bag again and removed a tin of assorted shortbread.

"From Harrods, as they are the only ones South of The Border who stock the decent stuff. For plenty." He explained.

Next was a lump of coal.

"Nicked from the scuttle in Arthur's office. For warmth." Merlin looked at his ... truly upset looking Harry. "Somewhere in there is a silver six-pence too. For prosperity. It's traditional to kiss and have a dram together."

"Well I will happily pour you one Rupert, but I will pass until I have very _thoroughly_ brushed my teeth." Harry said, making a face as he trailed his fingers through the vomit until he found the six-pence. He rinsed it off and noticed it had had a hole drilled through it.

He looked at Merlin questioningly.

"So it will fit on this." Merlin said, pulling a ring with two keys out of his pocket and offered it to Harry. "Building's front door and my flat."

"Oh Rupert ..." Harry began.

Merlin cut him off with a wave of his hand and recited;

"A guid new year to ane an' a'

An' mony may ye see.

An' during a' the years to come

O happy may ye be."

They looked at each other silently for a moment. Harry tied the handles of the carrier together and dropped it into the bin, then wiped the draining board.

"Go and brush your teeth Harry. I will pour the whisky." Merlin said with a sigh, wrapping the wet bottle in a tea towel and heading to the sitting room.

Mr Pickles had curled himself up in the middle of the couch, which was just fucking _spiffing_ of him.

 _See if I ever try doing anything romantic again_. Merlin thought. _Great start to the year._

He poured the whisky, more of a nip than a dram in case it was likely to be wasted (not that toothpaste would mix well with it anyway) and sniffed it, breathing it in and attempting to breath his annoyance out. It wasn't Harry's fault everything had not gone as hoped. It wasn't even really Mr Pickles' fault. Terriers were _supposed_ to bark, it was bred into them. Merlin just hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction. The beast simply did not like him. The feeling was entirely mutual.

Harry shuffled across the room and wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist, laying his forehead on his shoulder.

"I am truly sorry Rupert. It was a lovely gesture."

"Not your fault Harry. Spies do not like being surprised. I was planning on sneaking back in and waking you gently." Merlin rested his hand on top of Harry's.

"Why did you have to go out at all?" Harry asked. "You had everything with you."

"You can't be the first to cross a threshold after midnight if you are in the house already." Merlin explained.

"Hmm, no." Harry agreed.

"And I wanted a last smoke." Merlin said.

"New Years resolution?" Harry asked.

"You don't like it." Merlin shrugged, dislodging Harry's head.

Harry turned him gently in his arms so he could look at his face.

"I've decided to learn Gaelic." He announced.

"Have you?" Merlin asked with an amused snort. He could tell this so-called resolution was all of three seconds old.

"Aye." said Harry, more decisively. "You say some very colourful sounding things in bed that I think I should very much like to understand."

Merlin blushed faintly.

"Aye is Scots, not Gaelic. There is no word for 'yes', or 'no' in Gaelic."

"I knew there had to be a reason why it was so hard to get a clear answer out of you sometimes." Harry replied. "Kiss or whisky first?"

"Whisky." Said Merlin, retrieving the glasses. "I am not having the taste of mine spoiled by your toothpaste."

"Charming." Said Harry taking his glass. "Cheers."

"Slàinte." Said Merlin raising his glass, and a challenging eyebrow, to Harry.

"Slàinte." Harry repeated dutifully.

"Do dheagh shlàinte." Said Merlin and swallowed.

"Hmm." Said Harry. "Tastes quite sweet."

"Speyside. There has to be some upside to all the rain up there."

Harry smiled, his eyes warm in his still slightly pale face. He put his glass on the sideboard and framed Merlin's face with his hands.

"Thank you for this, and for being with me now Love." He said and kissed Merlin slowly.

It was a good thing he was going slowly because Merlin was several steps behind, stuck at the bit where Harry had called him ' _Love_ '. Harry, his ... Harry.

 _Mo gradh. A step ahead again._

Merlin wrapped his free arm up Harry's back, cradling his head in his hand and made his kiss demanding. Harry tasted so strongly of mint it was surprising he had been able to taste the whisky at all. But it was decidedly better than the alternative.

"In England," Harry said when their lips unlocked, "we tend to keep New Years kisses a bit more chaste."

Merlin snorted.

"I am surprised you even know the meaning of that word."

"I've never had a comprehension problem, just a problem with the application of it to myself. Recently, I have found myself content to endure bouts of chastity in exchange for your continued association."

Merlin looked at Harry with a puzzled expression.

"I am not planning to end our ' _association_ ' Harry."

"I know that now Love, but you are a bit of a dark horse and hard to get an emotional read on. It is always about what you do, or don't do, because you _never_ say anything. We've been shagging and occasionally eating breakfast for months with no indication you saw it as anything more than that, but now you've given me your keys, you are giving up smoking because I don't like it, you are initiating me into your strange heretical Scottish ways. What would your father have to say about your behavior?"

"The same as he would say about my choice of partner. 'Deus miserere animae meae', or words to that effect."

"Try not to hold it against me Love if I do not necessarily do my best work should I ever be assigned to protect the life of His Arseholiness." Harry said, sticking his nose stroppily in the air.

"He has an official bodyguard made up of _110 mercenaries_ , Harry. Even if we were closer, his security is not something that would have me loosing sleep. But the idea of you two meeting might."

"Oh a little excommunication is unlikely to hurt me." Harry replied breezily. "Not when the earthly delights available to me are so delightful."

Merlin rolled his eyes but Harry ignored him.

"I think you should take me to bed and give me a vocabulary lesson. You do sound lovely when you are too distracted for English." Harry said pulling him in the direction of the stairs with a cheeky grin. "I think you are the only Gaelic speaker on staff. I can talk dirty to you in public."

"Not in medical you can't, old Black Angus would have our heads. And I am not teaching you my mother tongue just so you have more opportunities to be vulgar."

"No, that is just an added benefit. You are going to teach me so I understand _exactly_ what you want when you are being vulgar."

"You are incorrigible." Merlin shook his head.

"Well I feel quite encouraged by the fact I have the keys to your flat. You are never getting rid of me now."

Harry smiled but now Merlin knew to look, he realized that the smile was not as confident as the ones Harry gave in other situations. Harry was insecure about their relationship, for months he had not known how seriously Merlin took their liaisons and now he had more or less confessed his love and Merlin had not answered the sentiment. It was not that Merlin did not feel for Harry, it was simply that he was even more emotionally constipated than your average Brit. Over-compensating for his accent and lack of hereditary title perhaps.

"Mo gradh." He said looking Harry in the eyes. "My love, I have no desire to be rid of you."

Harry let out a sigh and gave a bright smile as he lent provocatively against his bedroom door.

"How do I say 'do me hard', Darling?" He asked.

"Menace." Merlin accused and pressed Harry firmly into the door with a kiss. "If you can get your tongue around this, you'll get your wish. Deanaibh mi gu cruaidh."

"I have a very talented tongue." Harry replied, and pulled Merlin into the bedroom to prove it.

* * *

AN2 - I do not actually speak Gaelic, born on the wrong coast.

In my family the traditional first-footing wish is 'Lang may yer lum reek!", which means "Long may your chimney smoke." and signifies the wish for the recipient to be prosperous enough to always have coal for their fire and therefore warmth for their house. Quite important in a country where we are not so many generations away from keeping the animals inside to heat the house ...


End file.
